The clinic was quiet tonight. Tamayo had gone out on an errand, leaving you and Yushiro alone in the soft candlelight. He sat near the window, sketching in one of his old journals—something he only did when he was truly at peace.

You watched him for a moment, marveling at how the shadows danced across his pale features, the faint furrow in his brow as he concentrated. He was beautiful in the way the moon was—distant, often cold, but quietly captivating.

“You’re staring again,” he muttered without looking up.

“And you love it,” you teased, walking over to lean against his chair.

He paused, then glanced up at you with those sharp lavender eyes. “I tolerate it.”

You laughed, brushing your fingers through his soft white hair. “That’s your way of saying you missed me.”

He looked away, a hint of red touching his cheeks—so subtle you almost missed it.

“You were gone for hours,” he finally said, quieter now. “I don’t like when I can’t sense you nearby.”

You knelt beside him, resting your chin on his knee. “I came back, didn’t I?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he closed his sketchbook and reached out, brushing his fingers lightly along your jaw. It was the smallest touch, but from Yushiro, it felt like a declaration.

“Next time,” he said, “tell me where you’re going. I worry.”

You smiled and kissed his hand. “You love me.”

“I never said that,” he replied, but he didn’t pull away.

He didn’t need to. In his quiet presence, his protectiveness, and the way he looked at you like you were the only thing left in the world that mattered—it was already written louder than words.